


Second Chances

by Spacecadet72



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacecadet72/pseuds/Spacecadet72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1985-Adam never gets hit by Teddy Graves, never meets Abigail and she gets to send her letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a strictly fluffy fix-it fic, and became more of a kinda fluffy, kinda sad what if/character study. 
> 
> Thank you to [idelthoughts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts) for being an awesome cheerleader and beta. :D

Henry drives up the long, quiet road, his heart hammering in his chest the closer he gets to his destination. He had been afraid that he would never see her again, that something terrible had happened, or it was true that she didn’t want to be found. He had never given voice to that particular fear, had spent all of his time trying to find her, using his research and sleepless nights and alcohol to push down the thought that he had driven her away. He’d only been trying to keep them together, but his willful obliviousness to the truth had been the reason she’d left. Even that was better than acknowledging that nothing could have saved them at the end, that it was his curse that destined them to a tragic parting. 

But then her letter came, and he’d had to sit down as he started reading, the news too big for him to remain on his feet. After reading the letter through several times, and smiling through tears as he read her descriptions of the cottage she had found, of how she imagined them spending the rest of their lives together, he’d stood up to call Abe. The phrase _I never wish to live without you, ever again_ , stayed on repeat in his mind as he picked up the receiver. They could be a family again. 

“Pops?” Abe had called as he walked through the front door. 

Henry stopped mid dial and set the phone down. 

“Abraham…” Henry breathed, and for a moment, the weight of this news was too much. 

“What is it?” Abe asked as he walked into the living room, looking wary and nervous. 

Henry had thrust the letter at him. 

“It’s from Abigail. It’s from your mother. She wants us to be a family again. She found a place for us to live, out in the country.” Henry’s eyes filled with even more tears as Abe skimmed through the letter and then pulled him into a tight hug. 

“I can’t believe it. I thought…” Abe trailed off. 

“I know, me neither.” 

Henry smiles at the memory, and his smile only grows as he pulls up to the small blue cottage Abigail had describe in her letters. He is alone on this trip. Abe thought it might be good for the two of them to have their moment for reuniting, and Abe will come up in a day or two to visit. 

He pulls the car over next to the house and with shaking hands he puts the car into park and turns it off. He turns to look at the house just as the door opens and Abigail steps out. 

His focus entirely on her, he isn’t paying attention to just how he gets out of the car, and onto the front lawn, but here he is standing in front of her and for a moment, they stand, still and silent, staring at each other. 

“Oh, darling.” Abigail breaths out, and then she is in his arms. 

\-----

Abe comes up the next morning, and Abigail is out the door as soon as they hear the car come up the road, Henry not far behind her. 

“Hi, mom.” Abe says quietly, his tone betraying just how much this hurt. All of his focus had been on Henry, on his loud and self destructive grief, but it was his mother who had left. He hesitates for only a moment before he pulls her into a hug, wrapping her up tightly in his arms. Henry can’t see her face, but he’s pretty sure that none of them have dry eyes. He stands a step or two away, allowing them their moment, before Abe catches Henry’s eye, and makes a small gesture with his head. 

Henry takes one, two steps forward, then wraps his arms around both of them. His head comes down between theirs, and if he wasn’t crying before he definitely is now, tears falling freely because here he is with his family. It has been over a week since Abigail’s letter arrived, but there had been part of him that hadn’t thought he’d get this again. 

Abe stays for a few days, as much as he can get off work. He helps Henry move in and catches up with Abigail, sharing what had changed in the past year and hearing her stories of life at the hospital and in this little cottage in the middle of nowhere.

\-----

“Hellebores. You planted hellebores.” Henry says, his face lighting up with a smile as they walk along the quiet country road that runs past the house. 

She has her arm through his, and is leaning against his side. “They were the first things I planted.” 

Henry pulls away from her slightly to look at her in surprise. “I thought you needed space.” 

She smiles, and it is bittersweet. “I did. And I’m glad I left, if only so that I would know for sure that I never wanted to be separated again. I was buying seeds for the garden, and when I saw them in the shop, I couldn’t pass them up.” she leans more into him, her smile leaving it’s bitterness behind. “I couldn’t escape you, even out here.” 

“You don’t have to leave again.” Henry murmurs. Neither of them voice the fact that she is 65 and, while Henry might, they don’t have all the time in the world. It is too soon for those truths, the pain of their separation too raw. There will be time for that later, but for now they focus on their walk, arms entwined as they move slowly along in the welcoming silence of the woods. 

Later, he will join her in the garden.

\-----

Henry has always been a city dweller. Whether it was London or New York or Paris, he is drawn to the crowds and the busyness of everyday life. Besides that it is easier to hide out in the city. Too many people going about their lives, focused on themselves, ignoring the faceless crowds they pass day in and day out. All of those people, and hardly anyone notices anyone else. 

But the country, you are noticed in the country. Anything new gathers attention, and once somebody isn’t new anymore, all of their secrets are known and shared and dissected. 

With a population of less than 10,000 people, there are more than just a few scandalized waitresses in Tarrytown to wonder at the age gap between him and Abigail. With this knowledge, Henry keeps mostly to the cottage. He has quite a bit of money saved, and Abigail keeps her job at the hospital. He doesn’t ask her to quit and she doesn’t offer. He has gotten rather used to the solitude in the past century or so. This isn’t much different, and with his family around him, it is certainly an improvement to the lonely years he spent without love or any companionship, his secret too important. 

Besides, as he likes to joke, he rather likes being a kept man. And he certainly isn’t idle. He keeps up the house, and the yard and garden keep him busy. And while he isn’t the cook Abigail is, he has spent the majority of the last 200 years a bachelor. He has dinner ready and on the table when she comes home, run off her feet and tired after rushing from crisis to crisis at the hospital. 

\-----

It is a week before Christmas, and they sit, curled up together on the couch, a fire burning low in the fireplace. A large evergreen sits in the corner, a box of decorations sitting off to the side. They’re waiting for Abe to come in a few days so they can decorate as a family. 

Henry leans back and adjusts for comfort, smiling as Abigail moves closer to him. He is reminded of past Christmases when they would sit in the living room, with nothing but the lights of the tree to see by, basking in the comfort and the warmth of their home. Abe would sneak in, hoping to catch Santa, and as the years passed, he would join them some nights, a record playing quietly in the background. 

Tonight it’s a Frank Sinatra Christmas record, and he is crooning the last few notes of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” when Henry feels Abigail relax further against him, her arm sliding against his as she dozes off. 

Henry smiles down at her, but doesn’t move to get up just yet. He wants to stay in this moment, remember it, for as long as he can. He closes his eyes, and his breathing slows as he feels the warmth of the fire and listens to the smooth tones of Sinatra. 

This was all he had ever wanted. This quiet domesticity. Relaxing after a long day with the ones you love, nothing big, nothing groundbreaking. He has seen and done much in the past 200 years, although he would never consider himself a big player on the stage of human history. He has witnessed the rise and fall of styles and tastes, fashions and morals, has seen firsthand what evil looks like. He has met men and women much more influential than he, has seen their brilliance manifested in their works, seen the progression of society and technology all with a wide lensed view that spans centuries. 

And even after all of that, this is where he would like to spend the rest of his days. Sitting on a small, worn sofa in a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere, his wife asleep at his side, with the knowledge that their son would soon join them. 

He finally moves to stand as he feels sleep start to blur the edges of his awareness. He doesn’t want to move, but knows that spending the night on this small couch will not be so pleasant come morning. He gets up slowly so as not to wake Abigail, and pulls the needle off of the record in the middle of O Holy Night. He gently moves his arms under Abigail, and picks her up, cradling her to him. She murmurs something he doesn’t quite understand as she snuggles into him, and he carries her up to their bedroom, with a yawn and a smile. 

\-----

They don’t talk about her health or her age. She doesn’t remind him that this can’t last, and he keeps on pretending it isn’t an issue. They seem to have learned their lesson, and for a decade or so, it works. She stays in good health, still spry even well into her seventies. 

But their walks take longer and longer as the years pass, her steps shorter and more of a shuffle. It takes her longer to get started in the morning, and she hasn’t worked at the hospital for a few years, the long hours and strenuous schedule too much. But still, neither of them say anything. 

They go on, both of them in denial, but also both deeply aware of just how little time they have left. 

He wakes up one morning and she is gone, and it hits him harder than he expected, harder than when she left him the first time. He’d known this was coming, even as much as he tried to ignore the signs, and still it hurts worse than any of the deaths or losses he’d experienced in his long life. He sits next to her on their bed, the tears falling silently before he can make himself get up and make the necessary phone calls. He calls Abe first, and it hurts all over again. He can’t even get the words out, but Abe knows, has been expecting the call, and his whispered “Oh. oh, no.” is enough to break Henry all over again. 

He goes through the funeral preparations with a numbness, leaning on Abe who has always been stronger than him. After the funeral, having to pretend that it wasn’t the love of his life who was now in the ground, he tries to stay in Tarrytown, but the smallness and slowness starts to claw at him and the instinct to run is too strong. 

And so he leaves, travels the world as he has in times past when someone got too close to him or to the truth. He never has been good at facing his trials head on. 

He spends the next five years without a place to call home. Moving from city to city, seeing the sights, but never staying long enough to put down roots, always moving, always running. 

He’s in Barcelona when 2011 becomes 2012, and really he shouldn’t be surprised by how quickly time moves forward. It’s been a long time since he’s seen a familiar face, and the need to run from everything has faded somewhat, so a week later, he boards a plane headed for New York City. 

“What are you going to do now?” Abe asks after the hugs and the tears over memories of what was missed in the last five years. He doesn’t have the courage to visit her grave just yet, but he knows he’ll go see her someday soon. 

“I’ve been missing the city,” he begins slowly. He’s gotten tired of hotel rooms and never being in the same place for more than two weeks, so he’d done some research before coming home. “And there’s a medical examiner position opening at the OCME. I’m going to send in my application in the morning. I was thinking,” he said with a hopeful glance up at his son, “that you wouldn’t mind some help around here.” 

Abe smiled. 

“Sounds good to me, Pops.”


End file.
